“Good ole Vreckin,” Trixie said with a grin. “Recognize him anywhere. Faithful to the end. That’s what happens when you feed them.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure they’ll follow you for miles.”
The sun was starting to dip behind hazy clouds on the horizon, dropping the temperature a few degrees. Dusk was falling fast—and it was a long hike back to the lodge.
Dark blotches stained the ground. Yul knelt. Dried blood. An awful reek filled the air. He looked past the dried blood to a graying clump half hidden in the grass: flesh torn from an animal. Decaying flesh.
At the edge of the clearing, Yul saw groove marks in the grassy soil. He identified them immediately. “Ship struts,” he mused. He turned to Trixie. “Look at this, a cargo hauler landed here. I bet they came in on a Daulk 246, a harrier craft. Maybe a ground team ripped through the fence down the ways, let the dengals escape into the woods. Create mischief? Steer off suspicion? They could make it look like the control box short-circuited and caught on fire or something, then the animals broke loose. Wouldn’t be implausible, a critter like Vreckin butting his trusty horns into the steel in one of his ornery moods. Wouldn’t feel the electrical surge.”
“Could be,” she mumbled, though her eyes betrayed doubt.
“Likely got a crew of poachers, hired hands to herd ’em with electric prods aboard the ship. Sell them on the black market. A few got unruly. They had to kill at least one of them, which explains the blood splattered on the grass. Probably dragged the carcasses aboard, made it look like an animal kill.” Yul squinted at her in a piercing way. “Any of you wear green-camo or red fibro-knit?”
“No, why?”
“Must have been them then. Look, back there I pulled this cloth off of the barbs of the fence and some from the brush.” He showed her some bits of red fabric. “You know, I’m thinking it might be easier for those crooks to poach animals, rather than pay a leasing fee that Lan might offer them for the family business.”
“That’s a snide way of putting it.”
“’Tis what it is, Trix. Why shouldn’t I call a spade a spade?”
“I don’t think—“
“Sh—” He put a finger to his lips.
An eerie silence permeated the clearing. The crickets had stop chirping. Something felt wrong.
“Stay alert. Stay close to me—”
A tall man stepped out of the tree line, his double barrel rifle cocked. “Hold it.” Five others stepped out of the brush, armed to the teeth, surrounding them.
Trixie reached for her sidearm. Yul shot her a warning look. He clamped a hand on her arm.
“That’s it. Real smart,” the lead thug said. “Throw your weapons over there.”
Yul and Trixie obeyed, tossed their rifles in the grass.
“Who are you?” the thug demanded.
“Vrean. Yul Vrean.”
The gunman shifted his rangy bulk in closer. Square face. Lean jaw. Plenty of muscle under his green-grey camo gear. His feral grey eyes sized Yul up. “Let me guess. Some bit of local muscle Banzari roused to take care of the outworld heat. Won’t do him any good. He’s in over his head. We’ve got him sewed up in a box.”
“Yeah, like you did with the gift bomb? Check the stats—one dead dengal, one live ranch owner.”
The gunman’s lip curled. He waved his gun. “Sooner or later, Banzari’ll get his desserts. We tried to be nice, but he’s as stubborn as a damned dengal.”
“And what would you do?” said Yul. “Just sit there and roll over and die if you were being cheated out of a million yols?” He crossed his arms on his chest all the while covertly thumbing the recorder switch on the hidden camera in his breast pocket. At least it would record the conversation.
“Better that than a ticket to hell. Enough gab. Hands down where we can see them. Move over there.” He nudged Yul with his boot tip, then he herded Trixie over with a rough prod of his muzzle. “Lebbie?”
“Yeah?” said the short, stocky thug to his left.
“You gonna take Miss Universe for a whirl? She looks just about your size and type.”
Lebbie snickered. “After you, boss.”
That earned a bevy of chuckles from the other four. They all wore green camo like their leader. Trixie gave a squawk of anger and slapped at the nearest thug, spraying obscenities in the air.
“Control that bitch!” cried the lead thug. “Enough is enough. Easiest to kill these two or make them both go missing. But Vrean, I’m judging you as a smart man. We’ll offer you a deal—you work with us and convince dumbass Banzari to sell his property to Veramax and we’ll cut you in for a slice of the profit. Let’s say 5k. Maybe hire you out for some future jobs. More money to earn with us than two bits like Banzari.”
“5k?” Yul laughed. “He’s paying me 30k to keep cretins like you off him.”
The thug sneered. “You get what you pay for. I’m thinking 30 is not nearly enough for getting both arms blown off.”
Yul scowled. He racked his brains for a way out of this mess.
“Tell the old man it’s impossible to swing it. His business is toast. Too many fingers in the pie. Tell him Ranger Rick’s animals just aren’t worth the protection costs. Use that kind of language.”
“Just turn traitor?”
“Unless you want to join those dengal carcasses over there.”
Yul licked his lips. Glancing around, he saw little way of getting out. The electric fence looked too far away, too high to jump. He hated to sell out. But dying for
